


every bait and switch was a work of art

by independentalto



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, F/M, Office AU, Secret Santa, Some pining, apparently everyone in this office communicates through emails and texts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28312356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: Melinda May's getting love letters for Secret Santa this year. Trouble is, she can't figure out a) who's sending them and b) whether her best friend Phil's the one writing them.An office AU, where the team makes up the world's smallest office at SHIELD Tech.
Relationships: Melinda May & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson & Melinda May, Phil Coulson & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49
Collections: Agents of SHIELD Secret Santa 2020





	every bait and switch was a work of art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bad_ash10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_ash10/gifts).



> I wrote this for [bad_ash10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_ash10/pseuds/bad_ash10) for the AoS Secret Santa 2020 -- I hope you enjoy! :) I had a ton of fun writing it, especially with the emails.

**December 1** **st** **, 2020**

_ to:  _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) __

_ from:  _ [ _ penguin@drawnames.net _ ](mailto:penguin@drawnames.net) __

_ subj: Your Secret Santa _

_ Hi Melinda,  _

_ The drawing for this year’s SHIELD Secret Santa 2020 has taken place! Your drawn name for this year is:  _

**_LANCE HUNTER_ ** _ ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ )  _

_ Check here to see the wish list of items your Secret Santa has picked out. Your due date is December 23, 2020.  _

_ Happy Secret Santa-ing! _

_ The DrawName Penguins _

“So, who’d you get?” No sooner had Melinda finished reading the email did the curious eyes of Daisy Johnson pop up over the edge of her cubicle, and it was only through the sheer experience of five years of such jump scares that kept her from jumping clear of her seat. “Did you draw me? Because if you did, I already know what I want, and I can save you the trouble of having to pick something out from my wishlist.” 

“If it was you, there’s no way I’d tell you.” She didn’t dare look over – if she did, she knew she’d be looking at a set of chocolate-colored puppy eyes. Instead, Melinda pulled up a new email, clacking her keys purposely so Daisy would figure out that there wouldn’t be any details anytime soon. At least, not verbally, anyways – she knew Hunter happened to be out today – but she couldn’t take the chance of having whatever glorious surprise she’d plan being leaked before it was materialized.

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ) _

**subj** : I hate this year’s

I pulled  _ Hunter.  _ Out of everyone in this goddamned office, I pulled  _ Hunter.  _

**Melinda May**

Director, SHIELD Special Projects

[ mmay@shield.net ](mailto:mmay@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2388

The snorts emanating from the cubicle next to her told Melinda that yes, Daisy had indeed read the email, and sure enough, the younger woman’s head was peeking over the top of the cubicle once more. “What’re you going to get, then?” she asked, and her lips could barely contain the suppressed mirth in her tone. “A barrel full of liquor?” 

(Honestly, a barrel full of liquor wasn’t a bad idea. She’d have to check with Bobbi about  _ what  _ kinds of alcohol to put in the barrel, but she could very well requisition a barrel full of pale ale from the UK and present that to Hunter for Christmas. He’d always been complaining about how American beer was ‘full of shite’ anyways.) 

“Maybe,” she mused, and Daisy snorted. “Who’d you get?” 

_**to** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: I hate this year’s _

I pulled Phil. You think there’s a piece of Captain America merch he doesn’t own yet?

**Daisy Johnson**

Director, IT and Communications

[ djohnson@shield.net ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-7084

“Oh, definitely not,” Melinda called, and Daisy let out a good-natured groan. “I’ve seen his apartment, and trust me, it’s like a Captain America bomb practically exploded in there. Good luck trying to find something.” 

“Speaking of luck…” She didn’t even have to look over the cubicle to know what was coming next. “Any chance you can give me a date on the betting pool this year?”  _ Apparently,  _ she and Phil Coulson were SHIELD Tech’s most bet-on couple, their ten-member office going so far as to hold a yearly betting pool on whether this would be the year ‘Philinda’ would, as Daisy so eloquently put it, ‘finally get their shit together and go out. Or bump uglies. We’re not that specific.’ 

It was a great source of entertainment among the office, but at the end of the day, it was just that – entertainment. Melinda and Phil were best friends – partners in crime, practically inseparable, metaphorically attached at the hip. But never had either of them vocalized the thought of something more. Had Melinda thought about it? Many a time, and had someone asked her about it, she had no problem readily admitting that there was the possibility she had a  _ slight  _ crush on her best friend. 

But, alas, no one had asked her about it; she chalked it up to her own secretiveness and the fact that Hunter constantly declared her terrifying, despite him being the only one to do so. Which left Melinda to admire from afar and to simmer her crush on the backburner, waiting for some sort of divine miracle or a clue that Phil felt the same. It also meant the office betting pool would have the same sad results it did every year since the two of them had started working at SHIELD: everyone’s money being returned. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Daisy abruptly stand and exit her cubicle. _ Hm. That was odd.  _ Daisy never left her cubicle without making a show of it – Melinda’d lost count of the number of times she’d heard Daisy mutter ‘Shit, I need to pee’ before doing an almost-sprint towards the door. But there wasn’t much time to dwell on it, for a light  _ ding  _ drew her attention to a text from Phil. 

**Conversation with: Phil Coulson**

**Phil:** Okay, so before you say anything, I have good news and bad news. 

**You:** I don’t get how I could’ve said anything, but go on.

**Phil:** Bad news: Mack and Elena cancelled on us for lunch today, so it’ll be just us.

**Phil:** Good news: we don’t have to go to Sweetgreen! 

**Phil:** Can we go to Spyce, Mel? Please?

Melinda snorted. Phil’d been advocating to go to Spyce for  _ weeks –  _ it was different, he claimed, to watch  _ robots _ make your lunch than for it to be made by human labor alone. Sometimes, she wondered how she was best friends with such a nerd. And not just a nerd – a Captain-America-loving nerd that was determined to try every single local restaurant in a five-minute radius from their office. 

Not that she regretted it, but how had she gotten here, again?

**Phil:** Pleeeeeeeease? I’ll even buy lunch this time around. 

**You:** You try and pay for lunch and I’ll make sure the next cup of coffee you drink is decaf. 

**Phil:** So is that a yes on Spyce?

**You:** …I’ll meet you at noon. 

**Phil:** Robots, here we come! 

A nerd. She had a crush on an absolute  _ nerd _ . Maybe he could advise her on what kind of liquor to get Hunter. 

* * *

“So, who’d you get for Secret Santa?” 

Phil grinned as he dug a forkful of rice out from his bowl, a slight glob of tomatoes falling from the clump before shoveling it into his mouth. “Daisy,” he said easily, before making several noises of approval. “Damn. Who knew robots knew how to cook so well?” 

She had to admit, he was right – although the cooking had probably been the icing on top of the cake compared to the childish look of glee that’d been on his face the minute they’d walked into the restaurant.

(“Robots, Mel,” he’d whispered, and the sheer excitement in his eyes was enough to make her smile. “There’s robots making food! And they put your name on top of the little screen!”)

“Maybe I should get this for Hunter,” she joked, and poor Phil nearly snorted out his rice. “A robot that cooked your food for you? Would stop Bobbi from threatening to leave him all the time, probably.” 

“You got Hunter?” he chuckled, and Melinda’s fond eye roll only served to make him chuckle more. “At least you know all you have to do is go to the liquor store and get enough beer to fill something.”

“And then we’ll have to watch him shotgun it at the company holiday party,” she deadpanned, and Phil’s answering grin made her cheeks warm. This was the best part about lunches with Phil – shedding their corporate personalities and simply being  _ themselves _ , prying coworkers’ eyes and protocol be damned. “You hear he’s the one organizing the betting pool this year?” 

“Oh,  _ god, _ ” Phil groaned dryly, and the roll of  _ his  _ eyes pulled a giggle out of her. “What if we both put money on some dates this year?” he asked, and suddenly, the air between them was still. “You know, just to fuck with them a little bit.” 

“Phil Coulson, you are  _ evil.”  _ And yet, a part of her brain couldn’t help but wonder – would this be the year? Out of every single year they’d been friends, would  _ this  _ finally be the year something happened between them? “I’ll put fifty bucks on the 16 th .” 

Phil nodded and pulled out his phone, tapping out a quick text to Hunter. “And I’ll put fifty on the 21 st . Make sure both Daisy and Bobbi have something to scream about when they go for drinks or whatever it is they do.” Oof, she’d have to keep this a secret from  _ Daisy –  _ and Melinda knew from past experience that trying to keep a secret from her cubicle neighbor was second only to needing to revamp a presentation the day before it was scheduled.

“We’ll be able to hear them screaming from three blocks down,” she murmured, holding her cup up for a tap. “Cheers to pranking the office.” 

He tapped his cup with hers, his grin alight with mischief and ( _ platonic _ , Melinda, platonic) admiration. “Cheers to finally giving them a run for their money.”

They drank, the premise of a well-done prank heady in their veins. “So,” Melinda said once they’d drained their cups, “all joking aside, I’m probably going to get Hunter a barrel full of alcohol, which ones do you think he’d like?” 

Phil snorted. “Well, I swear the man doesn’t shut up about Young’s Double Chocolate Stout…”

* * *

**December 5** **th** **, 2020**

“You’ve got a special letter,” Daisy sang the next morning when Melinda trundled into her cubicle, residual snowflakes still melting off of her coat at an alarming rate. She knew Nick Fury was no weatherman, and that in no way could he have predicted the snow, but  _ did _ she need someone to be pissed at for the snow, no matter how lightly it was coming down, and SHIELD’s director was the perfect lame duck. 

**Conversation with: Nick Fury**

**You:** If we don’t get to go home early today, I’m quitting. 

**Nick:** Hand warmers are in the break room, and I reminded Johnson to brew you a fresh pot of water two minutes ago. See you in the meeting at eleven. 

“Thanks, Daisy,” Melinda murmured, and Daisy shot her a thumbs-up. “Wait – did you say I had a  _ special letter?”  _

“That you do,” Daisy answered, and it was only then that Melinda spotted the forest green envelope taped to the corner of her desk, her name written on the front in careful gold calligraphy. Carefully, she peeled it off of her desk, ignoring Daisy’s impatient noises in favor of slowly peeling back the flap and removing the surprisingly weighty paper from the envelope. 

_ Melinda,  _ the letter began.  _ If you’re reading this, then let me be the first to tell you that you look beautiful, even with all of the snow currently melting off of your hair. It’s not coming off in the drips you think they are, I promise. You look beautiful no matter the hour of the day, whether it’s first thing in the morning or with your hair down during happy hour with the team. And it’s only one of the things I love about you: that it takes almost no effort for you to be beautiful inside and out, no matter what you wear or do, and I hope that you don’t take this the wrong way, but I could look at you for the rest of my life and always find something new that I hadn’t seen before.  _

_ On December 21 _ _ st _ _ , I’ll be waiting for you at the Ghirardelli restaurant on North Street during the SHIELD holiday party, and if you’d like, I can’t wait to meet you there.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Your Secret Santa _

_ Her Secret Santa. _ As far as she knew, there could only be nine people in the office who could’ve sent her this letter, and she sure as hell could cross one off the list right now. Maybe more if she thought hard enough. (Right?  _ Right _ ? She could cross Daisy off of the list, couldn’t she? She could. Yes, she absolutely could. Daisy already had a girlfriend – what was her name? Piper. Right, Piper; they’d met at the SHIELD happy hour last month. Plus, Daisy was at  _ least  _ young enough to be her daughter, and that...yeah, no. She could  _ definitely  _ cross Daisy off of the list.)

She wasn’t crazy enough to think either Bobbi or Hunter had a long-hidden crush on her; nor was it Mack, their Director of Engineering, or Elena, their marketing director. Both of them were in a committed relationship with each other, respectively, and Melinda had no desire to be with any of them nor be a homewrecker.

Which really only left four people: granted, when she thought about it, none of them were bad choices. Nick could be gruff and distant when he wanted to be, but put aside the impending meetings and corporate paranoia, the man did have a pretty solid heart of gold. Maria Hill was Nick’s corporate carbon copy, but with a little more warmth – there was a reason Nick sent her to all of the networking events. And Trip, their HR Director, was charisma on steroids. 

(She wouldn’t think about who  _ else  _ that left. It was a rule-out, really, right up there with Daisy. There was no way.) 

“I think it’s cute,” Daisy remarked, and Melinda looked up to see her eyes tracking the letter. “Someone in the office has a crush on you, and they’re using Secret Santa as a way to tell you.” She sighed, and whether it was wistfully or in envy, Melinda would never know. “Sure beats wondering which Bluetooth speaker I’m going to get this year.” 

“At least the Bluetooth speaker’s an object.” 

“Touché. Don’t really know what I’d do with a love confession.” The paper was slowly slid back into the envelope before being carefully perched on the corner of the desk she’d found it on. “You gonna try and find out who it is before the party?” 

Melinda shook her head. Some things were better left unsolved. If she received another love letter, sure, she’d  _ maybe  _ think about it, but until then, she’d shove it to the back burner with Phil’s crush and the ticking biological clock her mother liked to remind her about. There were other things that took precedence other than the poor fool she was going to have to reject in three weeks’ time. 

Things like betting pools, for instance. 

_**to:** “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from:** “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : I heard you were running the pool this year _

Put me down for fifty bucks on the sixteenth.

**Melinda May**

Director, SHIELD Special Projects

[ mmay@shield.net ](mailto:mmay@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2188

_**to** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: I heard you were running the pool this year _

Done. I’ve got Phil down for the 21 st , do you two know something we don’t?

**Lance Hunter**

Director, Legal Affairs

[ lhunter@shield.net ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0313

_**to** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: I heard you were running the pool this year _

Your guess is as good as mine.

**Melinda May**

Director, SHIELD Special Projects

[ mmay@shield.net ](mailto:mmay@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2188

**Conversation with: Lance Hunter**

**Lance:** You could’ve just texted me, you know. Everyone else in the office does it. 

**You:** Then I’d have to pretend I like you. 

“So I got a love letter today,” she told Phil later that day, and she swore there was a slight pause between Phil’s grilled chicken hovering by his lips and it entering his mouth. (Not that she was staring at his lips. She absolutely was  _ not. _ ) “Apparently, someone in the office has a crush on me and has chosen this year of all years to tell me.” 

Phil’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, and yep, she’d been right to rule him off of the list. “You’ve been here for over five years,” he pointed out, the fork abandoned in favor for him examining her, head resting on an upturned fist. “Why would someone tell you now?” 

“That’s what I said!” she exclaimed; finally, someone who saw things the way she did. She knew she’d been right to go to Phil. He’d always understood her. (Damn him for not being eligible to be her Secret Santa.) “Daisy thinks it’s some sort of longstanding unrequited crush, like they just couldn’t keep it in any longer, or something.” She shook her head, stabbing her fork into her dumplings a  _ little  _ too forcefully. “My cubicle neighbor’s a hopeless romantic.” 

“Well, to be fair, that only started when she started dating Piper,” he pointed out. At that, Melinda simply stabbed at another dumpling. “Remember when she used to be a despondent cynic?” 

That was true. “Don’t tell Daisy, but I think I liked her better back then.” 

He snorted. “I’ll make sure I email that to her when I get back into the office.” She shot him a withering look, the slant of her eyebrows tinged with fond annoyance. “Text it to her right now?” he asked, pulling out his phone. “Okay, I’ll tell her you said to. To Daisy Johnson: Your cubicle neighbor…liked you better…when you were a despondent…cynic…” 

Melinda just rolled her eyes and stole a piece of chicken out of his lunch container. “Phil Coulson, you are the biggest ass I have ever had the misfortune to meet in my entire life.” 

“Yeah, but you like my ass.” She just scoffed, drawing a hearty laugh from him as she stole the last piece of chicken instead of responding. “And I have it on good authority you don’t hate me as much as Hunter.” 

“Hunter I tolerate.” She shot him a playful glare. “You, I’m just waiting for the right moment when I can poison your food and make it look like an accident.” 

“Do me a favor and do it on work hours, so I can get paid for the rest of the day, will you?” Sighing, Phil checked his phone when it let off a series of _ dings _ . “Bobbi needs me in a meeting. Something about one of our interns at the Jackson branch being a mole, I think?” Another series of dings. “A mole  _ and  _ Hunter’s being an ass again.” He stood, Melinda standing to mirror him and engulfing him in a hug that screamed way too much of possible romantic entanglement. (Or maybe she had her love letter on the mind, sue her.) “I’ll talk to you later?”

She nodded, nerve endings still tingling from the complete engulfment his embrace had provided. (Had things always felt this way?) “Yeah,” she half-croaked, trying to make sense of the now cartwheels her brain was doing. “Tell me what Bobbi says about Hunter.” 

Her neurons were still only firing at half-mast by the time Phil disappeared with a jaunty wave, her dumplings somehow less tasty as they’d been when they’d been eating lunch together. Maybe the love letter  _ was  _ affecting the way she saw her relationships with people. 

If that was the case, she hoped she wasn’t hugging Nick Fury anytime soon. The both of them had reputations to maintain, after all. 

**Conversation with: Phil Coulson**

**Phil:** No mole, just some overzealous intern who thought they could improve the SHIELD security systems and accidentally deleted one of Daisy’s backdoors. Let her off with a warning and set up a future webinar with Daisy. 

**You:** And Bobbi?

**Phil:** …let’s just say that at this point, *she’d* be better off suited for the barrel of alcohol than Hunter. Did you know she could talk for three minutes straight without taking a breath?

* * *

**December 12** **th** **, 2020**

_**to** : “Barbara Morse” ( _ [ _ bmorse@shield.net _ ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net) _ ), “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ), “Alphonso Mackenzie” ( _ [ _ amackenzie@shield.net _ ](mailto:amackenzie@shield.net) _ ), “Elena Rodriguez” ( _ [ _ erodriguez@shield.net _ ](mailto:erodriguez@shield.net) _ ), “Antoine Triplett” ( _ [ _ atriplett@shield.net _ ](mailto:atriplett@shield.net) _ ) _

_**bcc** : “Nicholas Fury” ( _ [ _ nfury@shield.net _ ](mailto:nfury@shield.net) _ ), “Maria Hill” ( _ [ _ mhill@shield.net _ ](mailto:mhill@shield.net) _ )  _

_**from** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : here’s what I know so far _

For some odd reason this year, Phil’s got money down on the date of the holiday party (12/21) and May’s got money down on the 16 th . Asked May if she knows anything we don’t and she basically told me to fuck off. So before I start using company time to figure out if there’s anything either of them are hiding, does anyone want to tell me if there’s any information I should be privy to? All bets are on already and they can’t be changed, so whatever you  _ do  _ tell me will just be for my gossipy ears only. 

**Lance Hunter**

Director, Legal Affairs

[ lhunter@shield.net ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0313

_**to** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Nicholas Fury” ( _ [ _ nfury@shield.net _ ](mailto:nfury@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: here’s what I know so far _

Here’s some information: stop digging into your coworkers’ private lives during company time. 

**Nick Fury**

CEO, SHIELD Tech

[ nfury@shield.net ](mailto:nfury@shield.net)

t: 616-136-1995

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : don’t tell Hunter _

If Hunter finds out, it’s ruined for sure. Don’t tell him a damn thing. 

Also, I know Melinda got pulled into a meeting this morning with Maria, but has she had a chance to read the letter this week?

**Phil Coulson**

Director of Operations

[ pcoulson@shield.net ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2012

_**to** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: don’t tell Hunter _

I’ll feed him the biggest crock of shit I’ve fed anyone since I wrote my college essays. (They were all true, but hell if I didn’t exaggerate on them.) Bcc’ing you in the email.

And no, not yet. I taped it to her desk light this morning, and she barely had the chance to make tea before she got called into the meeting. Chances are she’ll see it when she gets back.

**Daisy Johnson**

Director, IT and Communications

[ djohnson@shield.net ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-7084

_**to** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**bcc** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: here’s what I know so far _

It’s me. I’m leaving Piper and I’m going to try and woo Melinda through torrid love letters and a mariachi band on the 16 th . Barring that, I’m going to make a speech at the holiday party about how much I’m in love with her in the hopes that she’ll finally see the light and be with me. Age is but a number, you know? In about 20 years, the age difference won’t matter so much.

**Daisy Johnson**

Director, IT and Communications

[ djohnson@shield.net ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-7084

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ )  _

_**subj** : re: here’s what I know so far _

You’re fucking with me, Johnson. You’re absolutely fucking with me. 

…right? 

**Lance Hunter**

Director, Legal Affairs

[ lhunter@shield.net ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0313

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ )  _

_**from** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: don’t tell Hunter _

Oh my god, Daisy.

And cool. Cool cool cool cool cool cool no doubt no doubt no doubt.

**Phil Coulson**

Director of Operations

[ pcoulson@shield.net ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2012

* * *

_ Another love letter.  _

This time, for some reason, the envelope seemed to root Melinda to the spot, freezing her into place behind her chair until the files began to grow heavy in her hands. The envelope was a scarlet red this time, the same calligraphy lovingly dashed across the front of the envelope, and, if she ever found the strength in her to open it up, would probably contain the same expensive, heavy paper the last letter had used. 

“Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you about the marketing for – oh, damn, is that a love letter?” Elena’s words trailed off when she saw Melinda staring at the letter above her desk. “Wish Mack wrote me one of those every now and again.” She chanced a look at the older woman, whose expression was still frozen. “You going to open it, Melinda?” 

“D’you think – d’you think you could –“  _ Elena was safe. _ Elena was with Mack, there was no chance she’d have to leave Elena standing crestfallen in the middle of a Ghirardelli restaurant after the SHIELD holiday party, Elena wasn’t going to be the poor soul she hurt at the end of all this because she was too cowardly to ask her best friend out –  _ Elena was safe.  _

Without a word, the envelope was peeled off of the desk and the files gently taken out of Melinda’s arms, Elena turning the chair so Melinda could sink into it. “It’s just a letter,” Elena murmured confusedly, even as she broke the seal and slid its contents out. (Just as she’d expected – same heavy paper.) “Is it threatening or something?” 

“No, it’s not, I just--” Melinda let out an exhale, missing how Daisy slowly peeked up over the barricade. “SHIELD’s good people, you know?” she asked, and Elena nodded sagely. “And to know that it’s someone in the office, after all these years…” She shook her head. “I have a feeling I’m going to break someone’s heart,” she confessed. “And everyone here’s like family. You don’t break family’s heart.” 

“Or it could turn out exactly in the way you want it to,” Daisy piped up, and both women turned to look at her. Ever the little eavesdropper, it seemed. “If you have to break someone’s heart, that’s their thing to deal with, not yours. But if there’s the slightest chance that this could turn out to be the best thing that’s ever happened to you, why not treat it that way?” 

_ Melinda,  _

_ Last week, I watched you argue with the overseas investors about the timeline of the Gatsby project, and I swear I’d never seen so much terror in their faces. There’s a fire about you that makes most people quail in fear, and it’s bright and powerful and so tantalizing I forget about everything else in the moment. You draw people in, Melinda, and you do so with such beauty and grace that we don’t even realize we’re being drawn in at all.  _

_ I can’t wait until I can tell you face-to-face about how in awe of your passion I am. I can’t wait to tell you that it both terrifies and inspires me, that it mesmerizes me like nothing else and I can’t imagine my life without your presence in it. Until the 21 _ _ st _ _ , if you’ll have me.  _

_ Your Secret Santa _

“They’re right, you know,” Daisy murmured. “I’ve never seen another person work the way you do.” She shrugged, almost a little self-consciously, and Melinda’d never been so happy she’d been able to rule Daisy out of something. (Just  _ when _ she’d unconsciously made herself somewhat of a mentor figure to Daisy, she didn’t want to think about.) “Whoever the hell’s writing you love letters, as nerve-wracking as it might be, they’ve gotten everything right about you on the mark so far.” Her eyes were soft. “Would someone who knew you that well be so bad?” 

_**to** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: don’t tell Hunter _

You got Mel a little emotional today – I don’t think anyone’s ever laid out a reverence for her passion like that. 

I mean, she’s also paranoid that it’s Nick or Maria or something, but I think it’s more anonymously being seen that’s throwing her the most. She and Elena were practically holding back tears when they read the letter this afternoon. So while I don’t think you have anything to worry about, per se, I’d keep in mind that she’s being thrown for this wild rollercoaster of a loop.

(Hunter did try to ask me if I had the hots for her, though. Which – if I have to deck him at the holiday party over a suggestive comment  _ in front of my girlfriend _ , you owe me big time. Piper means a lot to me, and I’d rather her not think I was crushing on my cubicle neighbor. Also, Mel’s like the cool English teacher I never had in school, there’s no way in the fucking  _ world – _ like I said, big time.) 

**Daisy Johnson**

Director, IT and Communications

[ djohnson@shield.net ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-7084

* * *

**December 16** **th** **, 2020**

**Conversation with: Bobbi Morse**

**You:** you’re not gonna believe what I’m hearing right now

**You:** phil and may are whispering in the break room huddled together

**You:** I swear may just let out a giggle, bob

**You:** this woman has never giggled in her *life*

**Bobbi:** Hunter, it’s 10:30 on a Wednesday 

**Bobbi:** some of us have work to do, you know

**Bobbi:** one of those people being you? you know, after may saved your ass last week on the Gatsby project?

**You:** pfft, semantics

**You:** she’s LAUGHING now, Bob

**You:** this has to be why may put money on today. has to be. 

**You:** HE JUST SAID SEE YOU AT SIX

**You:** AND SHE JUST SAID SEE YOU AT SIX

**You:** IS THIS WHY SHE PUT MONEY ON TODAY

**You:** IS THIS WHY

**You:** SHE’S GOING TO TELL US AT SIX TODAY ISN’T SHE

**Bobbi:** so I’m ignoring you now

**You:** SHE TOTALLY RIGGED IT

**You:** RIGGED IT, BOB

**You:** RIGGED

**You:** IT

_**to** : “Nick Fury” ( _ [ _ nfury@shield.net _ ](mailto:nfury@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Barbara Morse” ( _ [ _ bmorse@shield.net _ ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : “what in the fuck was that noise” _

With all due respect, sir, I’m pretty sure that noise was Hunter squealing unintelligibly about the fact that Melinda put money on today for the betting pool and that he was eavesdropping on a conversation she and Coulson were having in the kitchen. Might I suggest getting him a muzzle? Or transferring him to the Long Island office? I wouldn’t mind, really. 

**Bobbi Morse**

Director, Research & Development

[ bmorse@shield.net ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0205

**Conversation with: Nick Fury**

**Nick:** Company time, Hunter. Company time. Don’t make me transfer you out to the Long Island office. 

**You:** Was it Bob that told you I hated Long Island? ‘Cause I’ve got a good reason, I really do.

**Nick:** Long. Island. 

**You:** …yes, sir. 

_**to** : “Barbara Morse” ( _ [ _ bmorse@shield.net _ ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : seriously?! _

You ratted me out to  _ Fury _ ??? You know I hate Long Island!

**Lance Hunter**

Director, Legal Affairs

[ lhunter@shield.net ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0313

_**to** : “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Barbara Morse” ( _ [ _ bmorse@shield.net _ ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: seriously?! _

Hunter, you literally screamed so loud we heard you upstairs.  _ Upstairs.  _ And I don’t care if you hate Long Island because of that one time you lost $600 to a bookie on horse racing,  _ some of us are trying to work.  _

**Bobbi Morse**

Director, Research & Development

[ bmorse@shield.net ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0205 

_**to** : “Barbara Morse” ( _ [ _ bmorse@shield.net _ ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net) _ ), “Lance Hunter” ( _ [ _ lhunter@shield.net _ ](mailto:lhunter@shield.net) _ )  _

_**from** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : casual reminder _

As your head of IT, I’m obligated to remind you I can see the emails y’all send – but beyond that, how the hell did Hunter lose $600 to a horse racing bookie on Long Island???

**Daisy Johnson**

Director, IT and Communications

[ djohnson@shield.net ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-7084

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Barbara Morse” ( _ [ _ bmorse@shield.net _ ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: casual reminder _

Remind me to tell you during the SHIELD holiday party. 

**Bobbi Morse**

Director, Research & Development

[ bmorse@shield.net ](mailto:bmorse@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0205 

“Did you ever end up getting another love letter?” 

“Oh, yeah.” Hunter was more of a vodka than whiskey fan, right? She’d definitely seen him do a line of shots during happy hour. Sighing, Melinda plonked back the bottle of Screwball and instead searched for the largest bottle of Smirnoff she could find. _Can’t believe this man has a full time position and drinks like an undergrad._ Why had she thought it was a good idea to get Hunter a barrel of alcohol, anyways? “Can you grab the bottle of Smirnoff over there?” 

Phil obliged, although not without a scrunched-up expression. “What’d the letter say this time?” 

“That they loved watching me work.” Honestly, if Melinda could’ve cracked open any of the bottles in the aisle of the liquor store that moment, she would’ve; this was  _ not  _ a conversation she’d ever desired to have with her best friend. As it was, that Screwball was looking pretty nice. “That I had a passion that was unmatched, and that they couldn’t imagine their life without my presence in it.”

He raised an eyebrow, palming a bottle of Fireball and handing it over. “I mean, at the end of the day, are they wrong?” he asked, and the bottle weighed heavily in Melinda’s hand before she finally set it in the cart. “Fury doesn’t call you the Cavalry for nothing, Mel.” 

“Apparently they saw me chew out the investors last week,” she sighed, and snagged a few bottles of Bacardi. “Hardly warrants a love letter dedicated to the fact that I know how to get intelligently pissed.” 

“Trust me, I’ve seen you get intelligently pissed, and it’s not that,” Phil snorted, and she elbowed him lightly with a bottle of Chardonnay she’d snagged. “You’re good at what you do, Mel. No more, no less. I think it’s nice that they’re recognizing that, though. Someone should.” 

_ Not the one I wish would, and you know that.  _ “Well, if they wanted to, they could just send me an email.”  _ Plonk  _ went the Chardonnay. “Would save me the whole business of trying to figure out who it was.”  _ And maube from having to break a couple of hearts in the process.  _ “I’m pretty sure Hunter’s having the time of his life, though. Explains the muffled screaming we heard from Hunter outside of the break room this morning.” 

Silence. “ _ No _ ,” Melinda groaned, and Phil only continued to smirk. “Get your mind out of the damn  _ gutter,  _ Phil Coulson, that’s not – she wasn’t giving him a --“ He passed a bottle of watermelon-flavored Rubinoff towards her with the same knowing smirk, and she smacked him with it. 

“Ow!”

The  _ nerve  _ of this man. “Serves you right,” she muttered, but she was grinning, too. “That  _ wasn’t _ what they were doing.” 

“If you say so.” 

_ “That wasn’t what they were doing.”  _ A bottle of NutLiquor vodka materialized in front of her, and the two of them stared at it for a long time before bursting into bales of laughter. “Swear to god, Phil…” __

“You joke all you want.” Phil only managed to put on a serious expression for a moment before he was grinning stupidly again. “But I swear I saw Bobbi walk down to the first floor about twenty minutes before Hunter started screaming.” 

“You – I –“ Melinda was  _ not  _ equipped to handle this kind of banter with Phil. She really wasn’t. It brought her brain to places only visited in the depths of her dreams, and even then, she wasn’t sure she wanted to let herself entertain that possibility. “You make one more joke, and I’m leaving you stranded in the middle of this liquor store,” she threatened instead, pointing at him with the most recent bottle she’d chosen off of the shelf. 

(In retrospect, perhaps she shouldn’t have chosen to point at him with a bottle of Fat Coq Chardonnay.)

“Fine, fine,” Phil acquiesced, putting both hands in the air, though he was still smiling. “No more jokes about Bobbi and Hunter.” He put a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. But at least we know it means our plan worked.” This was true, at the very least; it seemed their plan to hit the liquor store after work had translated into something of higher stakes for their lead legal analyst. And that, as Bobbi would usually say when it came to her boyfriend, was his own damn fault. “How many more bottles d’you think we can fit in the barrel you bought?” 

Melinda shot him a sidelong glance, her own grin growing on her face.  _ She knew they were best friends for a reason. _ “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” 

Phil passed her a bottle of Popsy Sperm Shaped Vanilla Crème Liqueur. “Already way ahead of you.”

* * *

**December 19th, 2020**

_**to** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ), “Elena Rodriguez” ( _ [ _ erodriguez@shield.net _ ](mailto:erodriguez@shield.net) _ ),  _

_**from** : “Maria Hill” ( _ [ _ mhill@shield.net _ ](mailto:mhill@shield.net) _ ) _

_**cc** : “Nicholas Fury” ( _ [ _ nfury@shield.net _ ](mailto:nfury@shield.net) _ )  _

_**subj** : meeting _

Dallas branch wants to talk to you two about the marketing for next year’s Dickinson project. Can I pull you in for half an hour so that they’re not calling us in the next 48? Thanks.

**Maria Hill**

VP, SHIELD Tech

[ mhill@shield.net ](mailto:mhill@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0120

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : go, go, go _

Just saw Mel and Elena head into the conference room -- now’s your chance. 

**Phil Coulson**

Director of Operations

[ pcoulson@shield.net ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2012

Melinda couldn’t lie -- she’d been anticipating a letter taped to her desk when she’d walked into the office this morning, the promise of it buoying her through a disabled train, two bus transfers and hellish rain that had been her morning commute. It’d become a staple of her office routine, almost, which was even dumb to say, especially since she’d only received letters in the last two weeks. 

She’d miss it, though, the comforting torrent of words greeting her at her desk every week. It was like a pick-me-up to start the week, although stronger than any cup of tea Zuko’s could give her. There wasn’t time to mourn the lack of envelope, either, for as soon as she stepped into the dry air that was the office, Maria was by her side, grumbling something about meetings, pushed up timetables and Hunter being unable to do his job once more. (Had she really  _ not  _ expected that last one? Probably not.)

Despite the welcome distraction of the meeting, however, the lack of letter (and of knowledge about its author) continued to haunt Melinda, drifting in and out of the front of her brain like a ghost learning how to haunt others. There were only two days left until the SHIELD holiday party, and at its conclusion, she would  _ finally  _ find out who’d been occupying the crux of her free thoughts for the last month. 

On paper, her Secret Santa sounded phenomenal -- they wrote letters like Wordsworth and had managed to peel her apart completely in only two letters. But once you introduced the idea that it was someone in the  _ office,  _ that it held a likelihood of being someone she’d known for over  _ five goddamn years --  _

Well. She supposed she wouldn’t mind it being Fury or Maria, then. Hell, she wouldn’t even mind it being Trip, but he  _ did  _ trend towards Daisy’s age, so she hoped for both their sakes the chances of it being him were a little lower. 

And  _ Phil _ . Considering Phil to be her Secret Santa was like reaching for the forbidden fruit; crossing the boundary from solid fact (Phil had never shown interest in her and therefore never would, which made sense after over ten years of friendship) into the realm of what could be was a dangerous game. The last thing she wanted to be was the girl next door who pined over her best friend, yet, really, what did she have to lose? 

_ You have everything to lose, and don’t you forget it.  _ Ah, there was the dark, cynical voice of before-Piper Daisy: back when she’d broken up with her ex-boyfriend Miles, Melinda’d consoled Daisy over so many days she’d practically adopted both her coworker and the cadence of her voice into her home.  _ He could be so horrified by the idea he’d never speak to you again. He could find the idea so laughable you’d be laughed out of SHIELD Tech.  _

_ Or he could feel the same.  _ Melinda grimaced to herself. Was that happily-taken Daisy’s voice she heard in her head? Gross.  _ He’s your best friend, Melinda. You two spend so much time together Mack once bought you a housewarming gift ‘cause he thought you’d moved in together. At this point, all you have to do is formally ask him to move in. You two have keys to each other’s apartments, for fuck’s sake. Best friends don’t have keys to each other’s apartments.  _

It was too late to do any sort of sleuthing, at this point -- all she could do was pile Hunter’s alcohol into a barrel, roll it to the office, and hope that the night didn’t end with her awkwardly staring down her boss’ eyepatch. And hope that she didn’t meet any of the taken members of the office. 

“Melinda. Melinda.  _ Melinda, _ ” came a voice, and suddenly, Maria was five seconds away from snapping her fingers in Melinda’s face. “You in there?” Maria asked concernedly, and it was only then that she noticed that the meeting had concluded, Elena already having vacated the room and Melinda’s notepad filled with unintelligible scribbles. “The meeting ended a hot minute ago. Thought you’d be raring to get back to your desk.” 

Melinda groaned internally. Had she been that obvious? “Sorry,” she said apologetically to Maria, and the VP waved a flippant hand in response. “Just some thoughts bouncing around in my head.”  _ Like whether you’ve been the one writing me love letters for the last two weeks. _

“Literally don’t worry about it,” Maria reassured her, and slid her a thick packet. “This was really about reassuring the Dallas branch anyways, so all they needed to hear was a solid plan from Elena and some nods from you, which, I must say, you pulled off perfectly.” Despite her embarrassment, Melinda still managed to find a fond eye roll to give her friend, earning her a cheeky grin. “You still on for lunch today?” 

“Oh, absolutely,” Melinda chuckled. “Be warned, though, Phil’s  _ really  _ excited about showing you guys to all of the things they can make at Spyce.” Still chuckling, she bade goodbye to her coworker before making her way back to her cubicle, only stopping dead in her tracks once she caught sight of her cubicle from afar. 

The damn thing was covered in snowflakes. Paper snowflakes were pinned to every surface of her cubicle, miniature pine trees and ornaments adorned her desk space, soft white lights draped around each of the nooks and crannies that made up her furniture, and to top it all off, a single navy blue envelope taped to her monitor. 

_ Holy fucking shit --  _

Automatically, Melinda cast a look towards Daisy’s cubicle, cursing silently under her breath when there was no sign of her neighbor. She could’ve  _ sworn  _ she’d seen Daisy this morning when she’d arrived -- maybe she was at a doctor’s appointment?

“Hey, Mel, how was the --  _ damn _ ,” Phil let out a low whistle as he came up behind her, he too stopping similarly when he caught sight of the enthusiastic decorating. “Your love letter writer come through again?” All she could do was nod silently, eyes widening when the gentle flashing of the lights caused the gold ink on the envelope to wink merrily at her. 

As if in a trance, she moved towards her cubicle, steady hands setting down the packet onto her chair before peeling the envelope off of the monitor. This time, much to her surprise,  _ three  _ pieces of paper slid out, and Melinda’s breath hitched in her chest when she saw that each side was filled to the edge with handwriting. (Handwriting that, she noticed with frustration, didn’t seem to match that of any of her coworkers’. Dammit.) 

“Wow,” Phil murmured, and she nodded. “I’ll go get you a cup of tea, okay?” Another nod, and Phil bustled off towards the kitchen, leaving Melinda with the contents of the letter and a hot ball of air in her chest. 

_ Dear Melinda,  _

_ Today’s the last day I’ll be able to write you a Secret Santa letter, and I can honestly say that getting to write you these letters has been one of the biggest joys I’ve had in a while. My favorite love language is being able to give people words of affirmation -- and while you might not need them, I’m of the opinion that one can never be told enough that there are enough worthy things about them to fill a whole damn tome. And for you, I don’t think I’d be able to stop at one tome; I think I’d have to go on to fill a whole series of encyclopedias.  _

_ Ever since we met, I’ve been captivated by your energy. And I know that’s something I already said to you -- it was in last week’s letter that I waxed about when you dealt with the investors from overseas -- but I don’t think I can state it  _ enough _. For the last five years, I’ve watched you only grow stronger and stronger as you found your place at SHIELD, first as an associate on special projects and then stepping into the directorship -- time’s only made you wiser, and I’ve been blessed to be privy to all of that journey along the way.  _

_ But it’s not just your energy in the workplace. It’s the energy you exude when you’re with all of our friends, whether it’s helping through a crisis in their life or making sure they eat on time while trying to make their deadlines. You’re always so willing to lend a helping hand or whatever they might need, and I’ve never seen you turn someone down who needed it. I can’t think of anyone who exudes giving energy more than you, and as someone who’s been on the receiving end of that giving energy more than once, it’s warmth personified, even if you do hide it under the frosty exterior that Hunter’s so terrified of.  _

_ The idea of needing someone to exist in your life in order for yours to be partially livable is a terrifying one, and for that, you’re not wrong. And I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this, but you’re that person for me, in some sort of small way -- you’ve been this beacon of light in my life for so long that I can’t imagine what my life would be without you. Darkness, I presume; but I hope I never have to find out.  _

_ There’s only two more days until the holiday party, and when I tell you that every fiber of me is excited to finally hold a conversation with you face-to-face, those same fibers are terrified to the core that they’ll be rejected like ice water to a fire. I know I’ve laid a lot on you, but I ask of you one thing: should you decide to come and I’m not who you expected it to be, please be kind and please give me time. Your friendship and company is important to me, and I would hate nothing more than to lose it.  _

_ Love and sincerity,  _

_ Your Secret Santa _

“Mel, you okay -- oh, okay,” Hurriedly, Phil put down the mug of tea he’d prepared onto Melinda’s desk and reached for the box of tissues she kept instead, snagging one of her spare chairs so that he could sit next to her. “Good or bad letter?” 

Melinda sniffled. Never before had she been so bowled over by a wall of text, carved into paper and sealed with wax as it may be. “Good letter,” she croaked out, and another traitorous tear dripped its way down her cheek and onto her hand. “Phil, I...I think they’re in love with me.” 

Gently, Phil raised an eyebrow and dabbed at Melinda’s face a little more. “What makes you think that?” 

“The whole goddamn letter,” she half-wailed, gesturing at the sheets of paper now sitting on her desk. “They decorated my damn desk. They probably have a standing reservation at Ghirardelli for us on Wednesday, and they think the fucking world of me, Phil.  _ Tell me that doesn’t sound like someone who’s in love with me _ .  _ Tell me. _ ” 

“Well -- I mean -- sure,” Phil said diplomatically, and Melinda only had the energy to give him a half-hearted glare. “It sounds like someone who’s in love with you, okay? It does. But you know, if you think about it, the fact that it’s someone who’s in the office could be a very good thing.” 

She raised her head to give him another glare. “What do you mean?”

“If it’s someone inside the office, then it’s someone you  _ know _ , Mel,” Phil told her, and she had to admit, he had a point. “It’s not some random stranger who’s looking to get in your pants, it’s not this casual meetup you had three months ago suddenly professing their love to you and catching you completely off guard. It’s someone you  _ know.  _ It’s someone you’ve probably trusted for a while now, too.” 

Melinda snorted. “Explains why I got Hunter, then.” 

“Daisy could probably tell you that’s not true, but honestly, it kind of does,” Phil mused, and the two of them shared a soft chuckle before quieting. “You’ve been holding yourself back ever since I met you, Mel,” he said softly. “I want you to have something for yourself. Just this once, yeah?” 

_ Even so, it won’t be you.  _ “Yeah,” she said, and plucked the last tissue from Phil’s hand, meeting his soft ocean eyes with a sympathetic gaze of her own. “Thanks, Phil.” 

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Alphonso Mackenzie” ( _ [ _ amackenzie@shield.net _ ](mailto:amackenzie@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : You owe me _

Daisy, there’s scraps of paper literally all over the floor of my cubicle.  _ And  _ boxes of string lights. Why are there boxes of string lights and paper scraps in my cubicle? 

I swear to god, if you used my cubicle as a decorating space again -- why is your  _ stuff  _ here, Johnson, don’t you have a cubicle to put it in -- 

Oh, and Trip wants to know why he’s signing for three giant boxes of fake snow outside. (Did you forge his signature on the sign-off? You’d better hope Fury never finds out.

**Alphonso Mackenzie**

Director of Engineering

[ amackenzie@shield.net ](mailto:amackenzie@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0422

_**to** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ )  _

_**from** : “Antoine Triplett” ( _ [ _ atriplett@shield.net _ ](mailto:atriplett@shield.net) _ )  _

_**subj** : three boxes of fake snow _

I  _ know  _ I didn’t sign off on these, Johnson. And I know you have to read these emails, so get your ass out here and help me carry them in before I send a photo to Fury. 

And get your stuff out of my cubicle. Mack moved it over after you dumped it in his this morning, and I think your lunch spilled in your Tupperware. 

**Antoine Triplett**

Director, Payroll & Human Resources

[ atriplett@shield.net ](mailto:atriplett@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0210

**Conversation with: Antoine Triplett**

**You:** FUCK I’M SO SORRY ABOUT THE TUPPERWARE

**You:** and you can just take the snow out of my next paycheck, right?

_**to** : “Alphonso Mackenzie” ( _ [ _ amackenzie@shield.net _ ](mailto:amackenzie@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Daisy Johnson” ( _ [ _ djohnson@shield.net _ ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: You owe me _

I needed somewhere to stash my stuff so it looked like I wasn’t in this morning while I decorated Mel’s cubicle, and you weren’t in yet that morning, so…I’ll vacuum up the paper, though. And get rid of the boxes.

Also, just in case you were wondering, whatever the hell Hunter’s saying isn’t true. (Don’t tell him I said that, though, I need him to believe I’m desperately in love with Melinda for another 48 hours, kay? Can’t tell you why, but I’ll buy you three drinks during the next happy hour.)

**Daisy Johnson**

Director, IT and Communications

[ djohnson@shield.net ](mailto:djohnson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-7084

**December 21** **st** **, 2020**

_**to** : “Maria Hill” ( _ [ _ mhill@shield.net _ ](mailto:mhill@shield.net) _ ), “Alphonso Mackenzie” ( _ [ _ amackenzie@shield.net _ ](mailto:amackenzie@shield.net) _ ), “Nicholas Fury” ( _ [ _ nfury@shield.net _ ](mailto:nfury@shield.net) _ )  _

_**from** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : temporary storage _

I need office space to hold a giant barrel full of liquor. My cubicle’s currently filled with snowflakes and string lights, so I currently don’t have a lot of room to move around. Could I borrow space from someone?

It’s probably better if you don’t ask questions. 

**Melinda May**

Director, SHIELD Special Projects

[ mmay@shield.net ](mailto:mmay@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2388

_**to** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Alphonso Mackenzie” ( _ [ _ amackenzie@shield.net _ ](mailto:amackenzie@shield.net) _ ) _

_**subj** : re: temporary storage _

As long as it doesn’t leak, you can keep it in mine. The place does still sort of smell from Daisy’s Tupperware, though, so be warned.

**Alphonso Mackenzie**

Director of Engineering

[ amackenzie@shield.net ](mailto:amackenzie@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0422

Melinda had to admit, Daisy had gone all-out for this year’s company party. 

Half of the office was decked in fake snow, prop boxes stacked in the corners of the room and made to look like gift piles -- had she rented  _ ice sculptures  _ and a  _ karaoke stage?  _

Hoo boy. She needed to go find the open bar, and  _ fast.  _ Before Bobbi found her and forced her to duet some Carrie Underwood, preferably.

“Wondering how much of this was approved by payroll?” Trip materialized next to her, glass in hand. He offered her a glass of champagne, which she took with a glad hand and a healthy swig. “Honestly, me too,” he answered, and Melinda snorted. Leave it to Daisy to make some unauthorized payroll purchases. “I suppose we’ll find out when we’re budgeting for the next fiscal year.” 

“Cheers to that,” she muttered, and the both of them clinked glasses before going their separate ways. On her rounds around the office, she passed the liquor barrel with a faint smile. She’d managed to roll it in early that morning, and it currently sat in a dark corner of Mack’s cubicle, the engineer having hoisted it onto a dolly so she no longer had to bear the shame of rolling the barrel gingerly down the sidewalk. 

“Melinda!” Elena called, and it was with a jovial arm that the other woman waved her over. “You look great,” she offered, standing at arm’s length so she could properly appreciate Melinda’s dress. “Did you get this dress when we went on retreat last year?” 

“I did,” Three margaritas and a rousing pep talk from Bobbi had resulted in said purchase, a forest-green and white dress patterned with floral leaves that clung to every inch of her body and ended just below her knee. She hadn’t dug it out of her closet for quite some time, but with an impending chocolate date on the horizon, she thought it best to go all-out for the occasion. “You haven’t seen Bobbi yet, have you?” A furtive look. “I swear she’s going to try and get me to sing karaoke tonight before I have to leave for Ghiaradelli.” 

“No, but I’ll make sure she doesn’t,” Elena murmured, her expression grim. Something told Melinda that the two of them would be spending the majority of the party hiding from the tall blonde and her shenanigans. “You think we can hide in Mack’s cubicle if things get tough?” 

“Might be tough,” Mack answered, his tone sympathetic, and both women looked up at him in surprise. “Think we can break into Fury’s office?” 

“Are we hiding from Bobbi and her impending karaoke?” came a voice, and they turned to see Phil, who seemed to be looking just as furtive as they were. “If so, I’m in. I say we hide and make a break for it when she pulls Hunter onstage.” 

“Oh, no, we can’t leave when she pulls Hunter on stage,” Mack chortled. “That’s a crime against humanity. That we have to see.” 

Despite the constant threat of Bobbi’s inebriated antics, their small group managed to avoid any karaoke incidents for most of the night, though it would probably shame them in the morning to admit that there was a fair amount of ducking under desks and using Mack as a human pillar of disguise. Melinda herself ended up behind Phil a few times, drink and hands clutched tightly in the back of his coat while the two of them shuffled slowly out of the field of vision. 

Each time she did, she was treated to the sight of Phil Coulson in a full suit and tie, one of the few times each year he bothered to put on the full getup. Whoever’d taught him to dress had done it well, she had to admit -- the creases of his navy suit were practically impeccable. Ghirardelli or not, if there was one thing she was going to get from this year’s holiday party, it was going to be the permanent image of Phil Coulson looking sharp as hell in a freshly pressed suit and tie. 

Still, after several more drinks (and even more hors d’oeuvres plied onto her by Elena under the impression that ‘you’re not gonna go on this date  _ drunk,  _ Melinda, that’s so mean!’), Melinda found herself shrugging on her coat, linking arms with Daisy, and steadily making her way down a few blocks to where the marquee of the Ghirardelli practically begged her to step inside. 

“You ready?” Daisy asked, and Melinda stared up at the marquee for so long the lights began to blur.  _ Was she ready?  _ Ideally, she’d have liked to at least check in with Phil before leaving, but mysteriously, her best friend had disappeared right as she’d been about to leave, leaving her to swallow her thoughts and leave them in her cubicle with any anxieties she’d been harboring throughout the night. 

There was no time to reconsider, no more time to run away. Whoever was on the other side of the door would be the soul on the other side of the door, and whether she wanted them or not would be something future Melinda would have to deal with. She had to be ready. 

“Yeah,” she exhaled, and with a bright grin, Daisy squeezed her shoulders and gently pushed her towards the doors. 

“You got this!” she reminded Melinda with a bright grin, and had Melinda squinted hard enough, she would have recognized that Daisy’s grin was not one of someone excited to see their coworker succeed, but rather of someone who was finally seeing every piece of their plan be put into place. “Remember, open heart!” 

_ It’s someone I know,  _ Melinda muttered to herself as she stepped into the restaurant, and automatically, she was aware that she was  _ very  _ overdressed in the harsh fluorescents of the dining room. “Hi,” she said brightly to the hostess, the normally practiced words sticking in her throat when she realized  _ she had no idea who the reservation was for _ . “I, uh, I think I’m meeting a friend?” she tried, and no, that didn’t sound right, it was a Secret Santa who’d practically declared their love for her --

“Melinda.” 

She would’ve known that voice anywhere. And yet, she refused to believe it -- no, wouldn’t  _ let  _ herself believe, wouldn’t let herself believe that life would be that straightforward -- 

Panickedly, her eyes turned to Daisy, who was still standing outside, a hopeful expression on her face. When Melinda’s eyes caught hers, Daisy gave her a simple nod, mouthing ‘go’ before turning and disappearing into the crowd. 

Go it was, then. 

Slowly, Melinda turned back around and ascended the stairs robotically, her brain still attempting to process the turn of events that had been the last five minutes. She was at Ghirardelli. She was at Ghirardelli because her Secret Santa had chosen to reveal themselves there on the night of the SHIELD holiday party. 

She was at Ghirardelli because her Secret Santa, who was practically in love with her, had chosen to reveal themselves there on the night of the SHIELD holiday party. She was at Ghirardelli because Phil Coulson, her best friend and coworker, had been her Secret Santa and had chosen to reveal himself there on the night of the SHIELD holiday party. 

She was at Ghirardelli because Phil Coulson was in love with her. Because  _ he  _ was in love with  _ her.  _ He was in love with her like she’d been for who knew how long. And now they were at Ghirardelli after three weeks of letters declaring that love, and she’d spent  _ years  _ thinking she wouldn’t have a chance -- 

“I thought you said you pulled Daisy,” were the first words out of her mouth when she reached the table, Phil still looking dashingly adorable in his suit, though he’d switched the formal tie for a bow. “You mean to tell me you spent a whole month lying to me about who you had for Secret Santa?” 

“I had to lie,” he admitted softly, and pulled the chair out with the quietest squeak so that she could sit. “You deserved to be told in the best way possible, so when...so when I pulled you for Secret Santa, I knew I had to go all out.” 

“You’re in love with me.” She truly was spitting truths here, wasn’t she? “You wrote me letters telling me you love me. That you’ve been in love with me for over five years.” 

“Almost right after we met.” A waitress came over and set down a pair of menus; the two of them thanked her with smiles and soft murmurs. “Almost seven years, Mel, can you believe it?”

“Seven years,” Melinda whispered, the disbelief smacking into her like one of Daisy’s many office flyswatters.  _ Seven whole goddamn years.  _ “Seven years, and you never told me.” 

“Would you hate me if I said I was afraid to?” 

She shook her head. How could she be? She’d practically spent the better part of said decade doing the same thing. “Not really,” she murmured, and a soft chuckle escaped her when Phil looked back up at her with the eyes of a puppy seeking redemption. “Phil, you’re my best friend. I could never hate you. Especially since I’ve spent seven years being afraid of the same thing you have.” 

Blue eyes sparked brighter. “Mel…” 

The need to engulf their hands together was suddenly almost suffocating, and Melinda reached to clasp both of their hands together. “Seven years, Phil. Maybe we shouldn’t make it eight, yeah?” 

“Absolutely not.” His kiss was soft, warm, tingling with familiarity yet the heady anticipation of crossing the threshold into something new. No longer were the gardens off-limits and the forbidden fruit denied to her; now, the gardens were free reign, its fruit ripe to pick solely as she pleased. 

Why didn’t more happily-ever-afters occur in ice cream shops?

* * *

_**to** : “Antoine Triplett” ( _ [ _ atriplett@shield.net _ ](mailto:atriplett@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**cc** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ )  _

_**subj** : Paperwork changes _

Trip, 

If it’s possible, could Melinda and I squeeze you in for a one o’clock meeting to discuss some paperwork concerning workplace relationships? If not, we’ll be happy to take you out to lunch -- there’s a place a few blocks down called Spyce that’s to die for. 

**Phil Coulson**

Director of Operations

[ pcoulson@shield.net ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net)

t: 616-136-2012

_**to** : “Philip Coulson” ( _ [ _ pcoulson@shield.net _ ](mailto:pcoulson@shield.net) _ ) _

_**from** : “Antoine Triplett” ( _ [ _ atriplett@shield.net _ ](mailto:atriplett@shield.net) _ ) _

_**cc** : “Melinda May” ( _ [ _ mmay@shield.net _ ](mailto:mmay@shield.net) _ )  _

_**subj** : re: Paperwork changes _

I’d be happy to squeeze you two in -- no lunch bribes needed. If it’s what I think it is, congratulations! We’ve all been waiting for this for so long. 

Oh, and make sure you cash out with Hunter -- he’s not too psyched with what happened to the results this year.

**Antoine Triplett**

Director, Payroll & Human Resources

[ atriplett@shield.net ](mailto:atriplett@shield.net)

t: 616-136-0210

**Conversation with: Bobbi Morse**

**You:** I TOLD YOU HE RIGGED IT, BOB

**You:** RIGGED IT

**Bobbi:** if you shut up, I’ll buy you another bottle of NutLiquor. Deal?

**You:** ….

**You:** Fine. Deal. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Big shout-out to Kat, who de-trashfired me and made sure I kept writing! (And bore the brunt of the results of my fic research, RIP. And my title, which we literally just came up with because we listened to so. much. evermore.) 
> 
> Any and all feedback is appreciated! <3


End file.
